THE HIDE HUNTER 211 



ing vigorously, their snow-white bellies gleamiDg in 

 the act. It is a wonderful picture of feral life, and 

 even Hans Botha, though he has shot in his time 

 many scores of these great antelopes, and is intent 

 only upon flesh and hides, pauses for a few moments. 

 You can tell the old bull easily by his jet-black 

 upper coat, heavy neck, and bigger horns ; the young 

 bulls and cows are much more rufous. One of the 

 latter, by the way, is already suspicious, and has got 

 her head up. Hans puts up his rifle, aims for the 

 magnificent coal-black bull, standing there seventy 

 yards away, broadside on, and pulls trigger. There 

 is a loud thud, as on a target, as the heavy, 

 solid bullet strikes home; the big bull falls to 

 the shot, scrambles to his feet again, and lumbers 

 heavily off. The rest of the troop are in wild com- 

 motion and tear across the big plain in a cloud of 

 dust. Botha is quickly on his horse, shoves in the 

 single spur, and gallops headlong in pursuit, loading 

 as he goes. In 200 yards he sees with satisfaction 

 that the big bull goes down again, this time for good. 

 Now he swerves somewhat to the right, to cut off the 

 rest of the antelopes, which are making for the line 

 of bush forward. In ten minutes, after a rousing 

 gallop, they are in the woodland again. Hans gets a 

 chance at 150 yards, and although the game is can- 

 tering, long practice and the incessant habit of judg- 

 ing distances enable him to hit the rearmost animal, 



